


Culture Shock

by Lycaste



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Cultural Differences, Gen, Humor, Misunderstandings, being Captain sucks, trouble making crew members
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1878387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycaste/pseuds/Lycaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Captain position on the <i>Lost Light</i> is nothing like Megatron expected. If only being an Autobot came with a handbook…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Culture Shock

**Author's Note:**

> Set early in Season 2, before Megatron appoints his new head of security.
> 
> Unrepentant crack. Not the least bit sorry.

_Now..._

When life was a succession of decisions made in confined spaces, one learned to redefine the limits of physical discomfort. To embrace the idea of pain and use it to incinerate the weaker parts of yourself, until you became what you needed to be to survive. And win.

Yet never in his life had Megatron experienced such agony. 

He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Most of his major processes were offline, the pain pervading his senses and curling into his micro circuitry. Control of his own body was far out of his grasp, and he struggled in vain to lift his heavy, weak arms. His ventilation systems panted with the effort.

He had anticipated an unfair trial when he surrendered himself to the Autobots. Torture had been expected as well, but not this. Not this impossible torment that had his insides squirming. Spasming. 

_Please. Please make it stop._

Oh Primus, what if it _never_ stopped? What if every second of the future was this horrible, stifling reality? 

Hazy light prickled in Megatron's optics. He was on the verge of throwing up. Why was this happening? How had it come to this? With one final burst of processor rationality, he sifted through his memory files of the past few days...

\-----------------

_Three Days Ago..._

Megatron rested his chin on his fist and stared at the crewmember currently wasting his valuable time.

Since becoming Captain of the _Lost Light,_ a huge part of his life was taken up by talking. Be it pointless arguments, idle gossip, or fruitless ruminations upon ship's functions, somebody always wanted a verbal conference that never went anywhere. Ultra Magnus alone requested at least four meetings a day, leaving Megatron to wonder how the Autobots ever managed to get anything done.

Eventually, out of desperation for the sanctity of his schedule, he had swallowed his pride and placed a call to Optimus. The once-again Prime had hemmed and hawed, and then said he'd call back after working out his latest "Matrix-related vision". He had signed off before Megatron could point out that he was no longer even in possession of the Matrix. So much for Autobot transparency.

"So what you're saying," Megatron repeated slowly, "is that you think I can get you...funding?"

Brainstorm nodded his head. "Yes!" He shuffled from foot to foot, keeping a healthy distance between himself and his seated Captain. Every so often the strange device he clutched made little comments like 'Uh Oh', and 'Yikes'. "Getting my newest idea off the ground would be a huge win for my faction." He slapped a hand over his faceplate. "Um, I mean our. Our faction."

"I see," said Megatron. "And where do you propose I get this funding, exactly?"

"Oh, come on," Brainstorm said. "Look, you don't have to be coy with me. Everyone knows you're kinda tight with Optimus again, and you're, like, in charge. Surely that gives you access to Autobot accounts for special projects. Isn't there petty cash somewhere that you could raid?"

 _Petty cash?_ Megatron opened his mouth but wasn't sure how to respond. Where did Optimus _find_ these mechs? "I don't know where you-"

A sound in the hallway drowned out his response. It was a loud crash, followed by giggling reprimands.

Grateful for the distraction, Megatron stormed out of his office. He struck his best 'intimidating yet still approachable' Captain posture. "What's going on out here?"

Trailbreaker lay drunk and chortling on the floor. Nautica had him by the arm, attempting to pull him into a standing position. A grappling hook stuck out of the bulkhead in front of them. The bulkhead itself was chipped, with small pieces scattered everywhere.

"Sir!" Trailbreaker managed half a salute. "'S Trailcutter now." He produced a grappling gun, no doubt the reason behind the hook in the wall. "But this is Skidses. Skids'. This thingy here belongs to Skids." 

Nautica eased her way in front of him. "Captain, this isn't what it looks like." Her optics flicked to the broken pieces. "Unless it looks like a really bad idea. Because it certainly was that."

Megatron pointed to the damage. "Did you do this?"

"Y-yeah," said Trailcutter. "I didn't mean to break anything though."

"Of course you didn't." Megatron pursed his lips. In the past, he would have offlined a mech for such a minor offense. Yet things were different now. So many of his people had died needlessly at his own hand. So many lives lost, when they should have been liberated. He sighed and crossed his arms in front of his massive chest. If he really was going to make this thing work, he was going to have to think and act a little more Autobot. Temporarily, at least. "Your punishment is three straight cycles of rivet duty," he said.

There. That was reasonable.

Or so he thought. The reactions of his crew told him otherwise.

Trailbreaker held up his hands. "Whoa...wait...that's crazy. Let's talk about this."

Nautica gasped. "Three cycles back to back? Exposure to the vacuum of space for that long can put a mech into stasis!"

"Wow," said Brainstorm. "Brutal."

"Look out!" said the device in the Brainstorm's hands.

They all started talking at once. Before Megatron could silence them, Ultra Magnus came barreling around the corner. "Is there a problem here?"

"No problem," said Megatron. "Trailbreaker damaged the ship with unnecessary weapons firing, so I assigned him three straight cycles of rivet duty."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Megatron knew he said something wrong. Ultra Magnus frowned at him, employing an expression that somehow made one feel deeply, deeply guilty, even if they hadn't done anything.

"Three straight cycles?" said Ultra Magnus. "That could kill him."

"Then he'll think twice about shooting a gun in the hallway, won't he?" 

"Shooting a grappling gun isn't a Class One Offense." Ultra Magnus pulled the hook out of the bulkhead. A shower of metal slivers rained down on him. 

Megatron gaped. "Don't tell me that you, of all mechs, don't believe in punishment?"

"Of course I do," said Magnus. "When the punishment fits the crime."

"Then how do you prevent property damage?" Megatron asked, genuinely quizzical. 

"Make him clean it up." Magnus glared at Trailbreaker. "Maybe some time in the brig, or one cycle of rivet duty. There is such a thing as due process, Captain. We can't just assign random deadly tasks without following proper procedure."

"Well...okay, then." Megatron raised a suspicious optic ridge. "Whatever. You handle this."

He slipped back into his office and quickly locked the door behind him before Brainstorm could follow. He sat down heavy in his chair. As much as he wanted to succeed, it was clear that assimilating into the Autobots would be problematic in a whole host of ways that he never predicted.

Most of all, Megatron just felt...kind of stupid.

\-----------------

_Yesterday..._

Sitting in his office yielded far more productivity than sitting in his quarters. The office seemed to lend an extra air of authority, one that discouraged his crew from awkwardly standing outside and trying to listen in on what he was doing.

Megatron's servos creaked as he leaned back in his chair. He'd been examining a map of their current location in space, wanting to be prepared for whatever could come their way. The work soothed him, allowed him something to focus on, made him feel like he was still an important leader of the Cybertronian race. The distractions of the outside world had no effect on him in here.

Almost no effect. Megatron's gaze once again drifted towards the little drawing on his desk, one crudely carved out by a laser scalpel. Disgust crept into his fuel lines. He knew he should have tried to swap out Rodimus' old furniture when he came on board. He rubbed at the picture with his thumb, hoping it would come off but knowing that it wouldn't. Had Rodimus really sketched three mechs interfacing on his own desk? Megatron was almost embarrassed for him. Besides, the proportions were all wrong.

A soft tapping broke through his reverie. He stilled, hearing a rasping and shuffling at his door. From the size of the shadow on the other side of the glass, it could only be Ultra Magnus.

A sly grin crept across Megatron's face. It had come to this so soon, had it? So be it. He'd been expecting the inevitable assassination attempt. Honestly, he'd been expecting it weeks ago. Lazy, feckless Autobots. _Crewmates,_ Megatron corrected himself. _Lazy, feckless crewmates._

He ambled to the door and flattened against the wall next to it. Hopefully he could contain this situation with minimal damage to his second in command. 

Ultra Magnus must have realized that the door was unlocked. He strode into the room like he had a Great Sword wedged up his aft, woefully underestimating his opponent. As always.

True, Megatron was weakened, but he was never as weak as they thought. And he still knew how to fight. Years of gladiator training took over. He dropped low and kicked, sweeping Magnus' legs out from under him.

The entire room shook when the huge bot fell. "What-"

Megatron was on him before he could recover. He slammed a knee into Magnus' hip joint. "You think I didn't see this coming?" he said calmly, putting his attacker into a wrestling headlock. "Really, Magnus. I'm hurt."

Ultra Magnus leveraged his superior weight and threw Megatron to the side. He stood up, sputtering. "What the hell are you doing!?"

"I don't want to fight you." Megatron vaulted to his feet. "But I warn you, I will defend myself if I have to. Think carefully before you take us down this path."

"Defend yourself? You're the one attacking _me_." Magnus didn't sound angry, more incredulous and terminally annoyed. 

"No, you're attacking me...aren't you?" Megatron faltered, a little taken aback by his enemy's tone. "I mean, you're second in command. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?" Megatron rubbed his chin. That was what a second in command did, wasn't it? 

Magnus' faceplates scrunched together. "Dear Primus, no!"

"Then why were you fiddling at my door?"

"Fiddling?" Smoke billowed out of the stacks on Magnus' shoulders. "It's called knocking."

"Knocking," repeated Megatron. "Oh." He'd heard of it. There hadn't been a lot of polite knocking on doors in his army. "If you're not trying to assassinate me, then what are you doing here?"

Magnus pointed a large white finger to the datapads on the floor. "I'm dropping off these reports."

"Seriously?" Megatron scoffed. A total waste of time. He'd thought the former Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord was supposed to be efficient. "In person!?"

"Yes. These need your approval." Magnus picked up the pads. "I feared they would be ignored if I sent them electronically." 

Megatron thought he heard a grumbled "as usual" on the end of that sentence. "I see." He took the reports like the whole thing had been no big deal. "I'll just...have a look at them then."

Ultra Magnus brushed past him, clipping Megatron's shoulder as he left. "You do that, _sir_." 

Megatron didn’t scan the reports. Instead he stood in the middle of the room, scratching his head and trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

\-----------------

_Two Days Ago..._

"Although we have yet to locate the radiation signature of the _Vis Vitalis,_ I have begun to calibrate the main sensor array to pick up any nucleon trails within a five point two light-year radius of their last known location."

Megatron walked through the engineering corridor, listening to Perceptor describe the newest plan for finding Thunderclash's ship. They didn't have much to go on, but this was a start. Any plan was better than the previous _Lost Light_ strategy, which from what Megatron could discern consisted of flying around aimlessly, drinking, and pining over unavailable crewmembers. Pathetic.

Perceptor carried on, conveying the information in his cultured, aloof manner. He had no trouble keeping up with the Captain's long strides.

Unlike many of his crewmembers, the mech produced results. Megatron respected that. He'd respect Perceptor even more if the scientist could ever learn how to get to the damn point. "Very well," he said. "Be sure that you-" 

The sight in the middle of the hall derailed his sentence. Skids stood looming over a much smaller bot, looking like he was about to crush the tiny mech's helm in his hands. The mech wriggled and gasped, trapped between the wall and Skids' larger frame. 

It was the one that never shut up. Deflect? No, Swerve. That was it.

Skids crowded Swerve further, paying no attention to their audience. The look in his optics was intense. Hungry. It was a look Megatron had seen in his own ranks many times before.

Oh frag no. Not on his ship.

Despite his weakness, Megatron removed Skids with a bare minimum of effort. He yanked the theoretician off his prey and threw him into the opposite wall. "Fiend!" he spat. "Is this what they taught you at the New Institute, or is this strictly an Autobot thing?"

"Hey!" shouted Swerve. "It's...it's not...I mean, what do you _think_ this is?"

"It's none of his business is what it is," said Skids. He pushed against the wall to stand back up, putting space between himself and Megatron. 

"My ship," said Megatron. "My business." 

Swerve grabbed Perceptor's arm and shook him. "See!? I told you. He's gonna go crazy and kill us all. He's plotting. He's a plotter. This is what they do!"

"Get ahold of yourself." Something itchy spiked through Megatron's pan-dimensional innards. The melodrama on this ship. He jabbed a finger at Swerve. "I don't know what kind of quiet culture of shame you people have propagated here, but under my command, if someone tries to force himself on you, you offline them. Show no mercy."

Skids' jaw dropped. "Whoa. Wait a sec. That's not it at all."

"Um, Captain," said Perceptor. "I don't believe this is quite what you think."

"Force himself on me?" squeaked Swerve. "Oh no. He wasn't...we were...I just..." He babbled a few more sentence fragments and finally gave up with a dreamy sigh. "You know...touching. Agreed upon touching."

"During duty hours?" asked Megatron. "And this is accepted?"

Three sets of doubtful optics stared back at him. Or two sets and one visor.

Megatron could see where this was going. "Listen, I'm sure you have all sorts of notions about this kind of thing in the Decepticons. But I assure you, when I founded my army, it was my intention that the strong should never sexually abuse those less powerful." He turned to Perceptor and grumbled. "I'm serious. Don't believe anything Starscream tells you. He begged me for it."

"Of course, sir," replied Perceptor. "But I believe this _was_ consensual. While arguably inappropriate, physical relations between crew members does happen on duty sometimes."

Megatron dropped his voice further. "Really? What does Ultra Magnus do about that?"

"Reprimands?" said Perceptor with a barely noticeable tilt of his head. "Perhaps even some time in the brig, depending on his mood. But, um, sir, he never attacks them. At least not without hard evidence."

"Ahem. Well, then..." That fragged-off feeling took hold of Megatron's spark. This ship was too ridiculous to be believed. "So...don't do that anymore."

Skids was transforming and driving away before Megatron finished his lackluster rebuke. "Whatever. I'm outta here. Later, Swerve."

Megatron peered down at the shocked and angry expression on Swerve's face. It might have almost been comical, if the little bartender didn't look so utterly, utterly crushed. 

Swerve groaned. "You really are the worst thing in the universe." He slumped down the wall and dropped his head into his hands. "And he was _finally_ gonna touch me..."

\-----------------

_Twenty Minutes Ago..._

Megatron tapped his stylus against the desk and hummed. While he normally wouldn't indulge in composing poetry during work hours, an idea had seized him and refused to let go. It had floated through his mind again and again, until he could ignore it no longer. When the words flowed so freely, it was best to heed their call. He had produced some of his best work that way, bending to the will of expression when it struck. And ever since putting on the Autobot symbol, the words had flown more freely and passionately than ever before.

To a point, of course. It appeared he had reached an impasse. What was the perfect term that rhymed with recusant? Megatron scowled, not wanting to believe that the inspired moment might be over. Yet iambic pentameter clearly wasn't working. Maybe the whole thing would be better off as a Banzaitron Haiku.

A chime from his comm systems shattered his focus. _//Captain...you'd better get to Brainstorm's lab.//_

Megatron rose from his desk and made his way towards the science level. _What now?_

The lab was in its typical state, crowded and disorganized. Ultra Magnus was shaking a reproachful finger at Brainstorm, while the scientist pointed to a strange looking apparatus and argued back. Ratchet, Nautica, and Perceptor were all speaking too, although it was impossible to determine whose side they were individually supporting.

"Ultra Magnus," bellowed Megatron. "What's going on here?"

"Perceptor caught Brainstorm trying to create a trans-dimensional warp portal," said Magnus. "Research he was specifically ordered to stop performing years ago."

Brainstorm feigned innocence, in Megatron's opinion, very badly. "Rodimus never told me to stop," said the scientist with a noncommittal shrug. "Let _him_ come up here and say this was a crime."

"Rodimus is not your Captain." Megatron quickly sized up the mechs in the room, reading EM fields and body language. Confidence surged through his circuits. The most Autobotesque action for this situation seemed obvious. He patted Ultra Magnus on the chassis. "I've got this."

"Uhh..." Brainstorm shrank beneath the former Decepticon leader.

Megatron slapped a heavy hand on Brainstorm's shoulder. "Good work," he intoned slowly. He patted Brainstorm a few extra times for emphasis.

Unfortunately, it appeared that Autobot frames were weaker than expected. Brainstorm's knees buckled, nearly crumpling under the weight of Megatron's approval. "Ow..." he whimpered from his new position on the floor.

Ultra Magnus twitched. His hands opened and closed into fists. "That...was _not_ good work."

It was cute how Magnus thought his _I will demolish you_ tone was scary. Still, annoyance rumbled through Megatron's sluggish fuel pump. "Oh, come on. That's showing initiative! Something the rest of you could stand to do from time to time."

Brainstorm hugged onto Magnus' leg. "Can we go to the brig now?"

"The warp portal created by such a device will never be fully stable," said Perceptor. "The mathematical existence of unspace, the area between the two universes, prevents a predictable trans-dimensional portal from ever forming. The laws of physics would cease to exist, thus a mech would cease to function before he ever came through the portal." He shook his head. "That is, on top of the obvious dangers of contacting the Dead Universe itself. Again."

"Yeah," said Nautica. "And if two people went through at once, they could be fused together into one single, monstrous being. Pretty horrible, huh?"

Megatron noticed that he and Ratchet were the closest two people to the warp portal. They both stepped back. "That does sound horrible," Megatron admitted. He took another step.

"This is a serious offense," said Ultra Magnus, his faceplates arranged like he was attending a funeral.

Megatron's eyes darted around the room. Did he just misread another situation? Thoughts of his fusion cannon rushed at him so hard that his arm tingled. "All right." He focused on relaxing the nerve actuators in his fingers. _Don't get upset. They win if you get upset. Starscream writes your eulogy if they win._ "Ultra Magnus, come with me." 

He stomped from the room, not turning around to see if Magnus was following him. He walked them to his office and locked the door behind them.

Once inside, Megatron allowed himself a minor slip of his calm. He threw up his hands. "That's it. That's _it._ I officially don't understand how you all operate." He tilted his head back to look down his nose at Ultra Magnus, somehow presenting the illusion that _he_ was the taller one. He would not ask for help, but issuing an order could suffice. "Sum it up for me."

"Sir?"

"Sum it up for me," said Megatron. "You know, like a ten-point plan or something." He counted aloud on his fingers, clacking each one against his thumb. "One, don't do bad things. Two, don't, erm, break the planet. Three, don't..." he coughed, "be a Decepticon. Stuff like that."

Ultra Magnus' silence stretched to new heights of social awkwardness. Finally he moved to sit in Megatron's chair, folding his hands on the desk. "Are you saying, Captain, that you'd like a set of rules?"

"Yes," said Megatron. "Exactly."

Something dawned on Ultra Magnus' face, something frightening.

Megatron's spark lurched, his ventilations became deafening to his own audials. The components in his frame quivered, rattling outwards until his limbs quivered as well. 

Was that? It _was._

Ultra Magnus was smiling.

Time and space rearranged itself inside the former warlord. Never before had Megatron known such deep, deep apprehension.

"In that case, sir," said Magnus. "Perhaps it's time we had a lesson on the Autobot Code."

 

The End


End file.
